


Reopened Wounds

by Vagabond



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Nightmare, also a lot of fluff, also mentions of organs, gore-ish, it isn't hugely gorey but enough that I want to warn people there is gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:26:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick encounters Hannibal and it isn't pretty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reopened Wounds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [charll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/charll/gifts).



> I blame everything on Lambylimbs and her comic [HERE](http://lambylimbs.tumblr.com/post/97369247523/just-trying-out-a-new-comic-technique).

A clock ticks somewhere in the distance, tapping out a gentle rhythm as Frederick’s heart beats in time with it. He’s standing in front of a full length mirror, staring at his own reflection. For some reason his eyes are more tired than he remembers. There are dark circles staining the skin under his eyes which are bloodshot, red, and puffy. He realizes too late to do anything that there’s blood dripping down his face. It is hot and slick, sliding across his pale skin from the bullet wound on his face. The worst of it, though, is at the back of his neck where the bullet exited. There’s a sharp pain there that brings tears to his eyes as he inhales. 

His heart no longer matches the beat of the clock. Instead it races, beating out a terrible, primal beat that screams “death!” with every note. He’s dying. 

“Look at yourself, Frederick,” a familiar voice says from behind and he stares at the new image in the reflection. Hannibal’s strong hands rest comfortingly against his shoulders as a microscopic smirk crosses his face. “You’re beautiful like this. You’re wrecked.” 

“Y-you did this,” Frederick whispers, his mouth dry as if he’d been sucking on cotton. His voice comes out as a soft hiss, words barely audible but Hannibal appears to understand. 

“I did. It is rather delightful, isn’t it?” 

One of Hannibal’s hands moves to the blood dripping from the wound on Frederick’s cheek, fingertips dipping into it in what seemed like an eerily intimate gesture. For a moment he wonders if the other man is going to lick it, but instead his free hand moves to yank up Frederick’s shirt to reveal his scarred belly. Hannibal drags his bloody fingertips down the mark left by Abel Gideon, smearing the hot liquid across his belly. 

“Stop,” Frederick begs weakly as his head becomes fuzzy. He’s losing too much blood and when he looks down, Hannibal has somehow sliced him open again. Panicking, Frederick reaches down to grab his intestines as they fall out of him and tries to shove them back into their rightful place. Mingling with the blood on his face are salty tears as he sobs, falling to his knees as he attempts to gather himself back up. “Please stop, make it stop,” he begs all the more as Hannibal’s fingers curl in the collar of Frederick’s shirt. 

“It will end. We’ll devour you,” Hannibal smiles sympathetically which Frederick only sees because he glances back at the mirror. “Come.” 

Hannibal tugs and Frederick stands and stumbles, gasping loudly as Hannibal’s arms wrap around him. It is almost an embrace, except he’s being dragged to the table, his intestines slithering along at his feet as he continues to try to pull them back in. He’s sobbing now, body wracked with grief and fear as Hannibal hauls him up onto the table. 

Frederick sprawls out on his back as the life drains out of him and he presses his hands desperately to his open belly. It is too late, he decides. He’s dead already and wonders how Hannibal will cook him. Will he be made into something sharp and tart, partnered with a sweet wine? Perhaps his thighs would be made into roasts and seasoned to perfection. The smell of his cooking flesh will fill Hannibal’s home and his guest’s mouths will water without ever comprehending what it is they’ll be eating. 

Maybe Hannibal will finally cut out his tongue and serve it as an exotic delicacy. 

When he comes back into himself there are gentle hands at his forehead and he glances up to find Will staring down at him. Behind Will is Hannibal, smirking fondly as he holds a knife in his hand and offers it to Will. 

“I’ll teach you how to cut flesh away from bone,” Hannibal whispers and Frederick barely hears it, the sound of his own blood pumping drowning out most other sounds as his heart clings desperately to life. 

“And we’ll devour him,” Will repeats what Hannibal had said earlier and Frederick lets another sob wrack his body. 

“Was this your plan all along?” He chokes out as he struggles to breathe, “you’ve been part of his plan?” 

“Of course, Frederick. How on earth you could believe I could come to love someone like you?” Will answers.

His world begins to fade as it crashes around him. Frederick quietly wishes death would finally take him. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it anymore. Hannibal could cook him and eat him and share his flesh with Will. They would live happily ever after and Frederick would be dead, alone as always. The taste of rejection on his tongue is sour as all words die. There’s nothing to say that will change his circumstances so he just cries as the blood pumps out of him. 

“Frederick?” 

The voice is different. It is Will’s but not this Will. Not the Will holding the knife and sliding it into his arm. 

“I’m here,” Will insists from somewhere in the darkness outside of the scene, “wake up, Frederick. I’m right here.” 

Everything begins to fade to black then and the darkness is almost more frightening than Hannibal’s dinner table. He gasps and flails and when the world comes back to him he doubles over and struggles to breath. 

“Shh,” Will whispers beside him on the bed, finger running soothingly through Frederick’s sweaty hair, “shh, Frederick. You’re safe, I’m here. It was just a nightmare.” 

They’re in Wolf Trap, Virginia. Frederick remembers it now as he tries to regain control of his sobs. There’s a wet nose pressing up against his thigh and he reaches out to rub the head of whatever dog found itself concerned enough to check in on him. Will’s hand travels from his hair to his bare back, fingertips tracing along sweat slicked skin in gentle patterns. Neither of them speaks for a while as Frederick works to ground himself in the present. He’s in Wolf Trap, in Will’s home tucked away from the rest of the world. Hannibal is somewhere out in the world outside of their reach, probably killing and eating people as usual. The important part is that he and Will are safe. 

He remembers his wounds and scrambles to touch his stomach. In the dark he stares at the long stretch of skin marred by a surgical incision. It is barely visible in the darkness since the moon is only a crescent and doesn’t illuminate their home well. There’s no blood and his insides are exactly where they’re supposed to be. One of Will’s hands covers his and squeezes and Frederick leans into the other man’s side. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Will asks after a moment as he presses a kiss to Frederick’s temple. His breathing has finally settled under Will’s gentle touches.

“You and Hannibal were going to eat me,” he admits quietly, “my wounds reopened. He made me stare at myself in the mirror and then dragged me over to the table. He wanted to teach you how to properly slice me up.” 

“Hmm,” Will lets go of Frederick’s hand and splays his fingers out over his stomach. His thumb strokes gently along Frederick’s scar. “You know, I don’t think you’d taste very good. You’re too full of sass.” 

The laugh surprises Frederick and he turns to hide his face in Will’s shoulder, body shaking in an attempt to suppress it. Will’s own body vibrates in an echoing laugh as his other hand traces the ridges of Frederick’s spine.

“Perhaps that’s why Hannibal framed me instead of eating me,” Frederick mumbles into Will’s skin as he kisses it, the remnants of the nightmare fading away. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Will tucked his fingers under Frederick’s chin, gently guiding him to make eye contact before leaning in to steal a kiss. 

“Yes,” Frederick murmurs against Will’s lips as he presses back into the kiss and allows the other man to ease him back onto the bed. Will hovers over him, mouth drifting along his jaw and then down his neck. 

“Good.” Will looks at him and Frederick stares back up, allowing Will to see whatever it is he’s looking for. Apparently he finds it because he kisses Frederick again chastely and then pushes him onto his side, curling protectively around his back. Will’s arm settles around Frederick’s waist as he holds him in place, face nestled into the curve of his neck. “I’m not going to let him have you,” Will says softly right beside Frederick’s ear, “I promise you that.” 

“And I’m not letting him have you, either,” Frederick replies and lets out a shaky breath, trying not to become too emotional again. He relaxes back against Will and allows the steady rise and fall of the other man’s chest to calm him.

“Will?” Frederick asks quietly after a while, wondering if Will fell back asleep. 

“Still here, Frederick,” Will mumbles tiredly and Frederick lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

“Good,” he whispers more to himself than anyone else as he finally rests his mind and allows Will’s warm presence to chase away the nightmares.


End file.
